Riders Of Old Read Eragon
by Dreamshadow102
Summary: Vrael, Oromis, Arva, Frida, Lakshmael, Ormund, Islanzadi, Evandar and the dragons are in the middle of the Fall when they receive a book that could be either the key to their success of the start of their downfall...
1. Finding Eragon

**Does anyone else really love the Inheritance Cycle but wishes there was some fanfics out there that were about the characters or Riders of old read the books. And that's where I come on. Hello people! Dreamshadow102 here ready to start another story! Honestly lately I've had so many new and good ideas and it takes ages to get it all down on pare or should I say computer screen. Just ignore my really bad sense of humour. Anyway if you read this it'd be cool if you could drop a review of what you think. **

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own Eragon.**

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><p>Vrael ran a weary hand through his hair as he studied the anxious and angry faces of his fellow Riders. The betrayal of Galbatorix and his traitorous followers had hit everyone hard; no one had ever expected this to happen and now the Riders were on the brink of being exterminated. Hundreds were dead and the Eldunari had been enslaved by the mad king, gone insane on grief and greediness.<p>

Behind him, Umaroth shifted and Vrael felt affection that knew no bounds rush through him towards his mighty, white dragon. He loved Umaroth with all of his heart and even now he could feel the wonder and sense of completeness that Umaroth provided.

_Know this my friend, I will love you forever as my companion, heart, mind and soul, Umaroth._

A single tear ran down Umaroth's cheek at his Rider's words.

_And I you, little one, even after death. _

Vrael turned to rest a hand on his dragon's scaly cheek and they looked deep into each others eyes, silently communicating. Then he looked once again over the assessment, bled company. To his left sat the Elven King Evandar and his proud and fierce mate Islanzadi. The arrival of the elven princess, Arya, despite all the turmoil had only served to strengthen their love for each other and the pair still looked at each other like newly weds, fresh in their union and wondering what they had done, to deserve such a glorious partner for life. Vrael was happy for them and he wished the, very many happy years to come.

On his right were his most trusted advisers Oromis and Glaedr, the wisest of the Order and with compassion that surmounted that of everyone else combined. Oromis was said to be one of the greatest Riders to ever live and Vrael couldn't agree more; the old elf was his greatest friend.

Beyond them sat Arva and Valdr, silent and impassive in the face of war. Three more Elders finished their company, Lakshmael, Frida and Ormund, as well as the legendary elf smith Rhunon.

"My friends, what can we do to halt the tides of evil that threaten to drown us with their power?" Vrael asked sadly. There was silence and Vrael watched as expressions of anger crossed everyone's faces save Oromis. The old elf locked eyes with Glaedr Of The Gold and they hardened on silent agreement.

"Sometimes it is not the solution we must look for but the paths that get us to the solutions. " Silence once again greeted the elfs words and Vrael motioned for him to continue.

"We have been fighting galvatorix wit brute strength and skills and maybe that is not the answer as he wields more of both the latter and the former. No, all we have suceeded in so far is top get more innocent lives lost and diminish our own troops."

He paused momentarily, hesitant but a blink from Glaedr seemed to drive him on.

"Earlier apackage arrived for me labelled for the Riders and the Elven Rulers, I do not know who it was sent from or what it's purpose is but now does seem the best time to find out. I tis my belief that the contents holds the key to our survival."

There was along silence as everyone contemplated his words. Finally Arva spoke up,

"Let us not tarry then Oromis, where is this package?"

The elf produced it from his saddle bag, slightly crumpled but still intact. He passed it to Vrael who took it with suspicious eyes.

"Open it," urged Islanzadi, leaning forwards, her emerald eyes wide. Vrael nodded slowly before ripping away the paper. A single sheet of paper fluttered out.

"Read it," Oromis said, his eyes sparkling like the lake where he was born.

_Dear Oromis, Vrael, Arva, Frida, Lakshmael, Ormund, Islanzadi and Evandar._

_This letter should reach you in the midst of the Fall of the Dragon Riders as the snow sets into the ground and the winds grow cold and blow from the west. I have sent you the tool that will decide whether you prevail or perish in this war. Think carefully and respect the source as he is the greatest man to ever live and his wisdom and compassion will be known for millenia to come. Your fate rests on how you ise the information given and being able to choose the right thing. Good luck._

_Death_

A quiet so suffocating it swallowed all sound followed as the shocked faces of those assembled were revealed. The letter disappeared in a flash of fire and left behind was a book. Steeling his nerves, Vrael reached out to examine it.

"Eragon," he murmured causing everyone's head to snap up. A blue dragoness dominated the front cover with the words Eragon printed beneath it.

Oromis cleared his throat,

"Read the blurb, perhaps." Vrael nodded and turned it over. Taking a deep breath and casting his eye around everyone he began to read.

**When Eragon finds a polished blue stone in the forest, he thinks it is the lucky discovery of a poor farm boy; perhaps it will buy his family meat for the winter.**

"It sounds very much like a dragon egg," mused Oromis. Understanding dawned on him,

"The dragon on the cover. The blue dragon. This boy is the Rider."

Evandar frowned but didn't comment.

**But when the stone brings a dragon hatchling, Eragon soon realizes he has stumbled upon a legacy nearly as old as the Empire.**

Silence.

"The...Empire?" Islanzadi managed, a look of trepidation marring her beautiful features.

"Yes," Oromis whispered,"the civilistaion that will rise from this war, under Galbatorix's rule. This boy must be from the future." Vrael sat stunned; how was this even possible?

_Read, little one, _Umaroth pressed, his head woven around the back of the chair.

**Overnight his simple life is shattered, and he is thrust into a perilous new world of destiny, magic, and power. Can Eragon take up the mantle of the legendary Dragon Riders?**

Vrael stumbled to a halt. Legendary. The Order must lose the war and all must have perished.

"We died," Arva stated shortly. Looks of hopelessness appeared from around the table.

**The fate of the Empire may rest in his hands...**

"This boy is either the key to Galbatorix's success or his downfall," Evandar observed,"Now we just wait and see which way he sways." Islanzadi bore a dark look,

"But with Galbatorix on the throne I would say the former; the man is a tyrant!"

Oromis smiled peacefully,

"Wait and see, my dear, wait and see..."

**Try and get another chappie up sometime this week. Here's some fanfic recs:**

**Eldunari by wildskysong**

**Edoc'sil by wildskysong**

**To Move Forward by Rainxoxo**

**Reversed Life by Rainxoxo**

**They are amazing!**

**Dreamshadow102:-)**


	2. Prologue:Shade of Fear

**Here's the**** next chapter guys, hope u enjoy it. So, ethereal through the book I might have some time travellers appear but that won't be for a little while I think. I'm gonna let Vrael and Co. get into the book first and meet some more characters. Review, Fave and Follow!**

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><p>Vrael opened the book to the looks of tension on his friends faces. Spurred on by the mental nudging of Umaroth, he leafed past the contents to the first chapter. Taking one more look at those gathered, he started the key to their success or the dagger to their downfall.<p>

**Prologue: Shade of Fear**

Hisses of distaste were heard from everyone alike at the mention of a Shade.

"What a pleasant start," Ormund muttered, his dragon humming in quiet agreement.

**Wind howled through the night, carrying a scent that would change the world. A tall Shade lifted his head and sniffed the air. He looked human except for his crimson hair and maroon eyes.**

**He blinked in surprise. The message had been correct: they were here. Or was it a trap?**

Silence met the words as fear and worry clenched at everyone's heart; what the Shade wanted was not something they really wanted to find out.

**He weighed the odds, then said icily, "Spread out; hide behind trees and bushes. Stop whoever is coming...or die."**

"Who's he talking to?" Islanzadi wondered curiously,"Soldiers?"

Arva shrugged,"Read on to find out I guess."

**Around him shuffled twelve Urgals with short swords and round iron shields painted with black symbols.**

"A Shade working with Urgals?" Islanzadi frowned,"What on earth persuaded him to work with creatures such as them?"

Nobody had an answer for her.

**They resembled me with bowed legs and thick, brutish arms made for crushing. A pair of twisted horns grew above their small ears. The monsters hurried into the rush, grunting as they hid. Soon the rustling quieted and the forest was silent again. The shade peered around a thick tree and looked up the trail. It was too dark for any human to see, but for him the faint moonlight was like sunshine streaming through the trees; very detail was clear and sharp to his searching gaze. He remained unnaturally quiet, a long pale sword in his hand. A wire - thin scratch curved down the blade.**

Evandar grinned; someone had obviously tried to stab the fiend's heart out and left their mark.

**The weapon was thin enough to slip between a pair of ribs, yet stout enough to hack through the hardest armour. The Urgals could not see as well as the Shade; they groped like blind beggars, fumbling with their weapons. An owl screeched, cutting through the silence. No one relaxed until the bird flew past. Then the monsters shivered in the cold night; one snapped a twig with his heavy boot. The Shade hissed in anger, and the Urgals shrank back, motionless. He suppressed his distaste- they smelled like fetid meat- and turned away.**

Frida wrinkled her nose in agreement with the Shade, remembering the stench Urgals carried and what brutes they were.

"So he's most probably been ordered to work with them; that much is obvious as he doesn't seem like he chose to work with them," Oromis observed.

**They were tools, nothing more.**

Oromis allowed a small smile to broach his face; his suspicions had been confirmed.

**The Shade forced back is impatience as the minutes became hours. The scent , use have wafted far ahead of its owners. He did not let the Urgals get up or warm themselves. He denied himself those, luxuries, too, and stayed behind the tree, watching the trail. Another gust of wind rushed through the forest. The smell was stronger this time.**

"Is he hunting someone?" Lakshmael whispered, leant forward, eyes trained on the book and her face a cross between anticipation and worry.

"It would seem so," Evandar concluded,"continue with the story."

**Excited he lifted a thin lip in a snarl. **

**"Get ready," he whispered, his whole body vibrating. The tip of his sword moved in small circles. It had taken many plots and much pain to bring himself to this moment. It would not do to lose control now. Eyes brightened under the Urgals' thick brows, and the creatures gripped their weapons tighter. Ahead of them, the Shade heard a clink as so, etching struck a loose stone. Faint smudges emerged from the darkness and advanced down the trail.**

Everyone was leant forward, eyes bright with curiosity. Islanzadi, however, had a frown upon her brow.

"Travelling on horses in a forest, hmm? " She left her question unanswered but it led everyone to the same train of thought; the hunted sounded suspiciously like elves.

**Three white horses with riders cantered toward the ambush, their heads held high and proud, their coats rippling in the moonlight like liquid silver. On the first horse was an elf with pointed ears and elegantly slanted eyebrows. His build was slim but strong, like a rapier. A powerful bow was slung on his back. A sword pressed against his side opposite a quiver of arrows fetched with swan feathers.**

Everyone looked to Islanzadi and Evandar.

"Many of the alfakyn carry a bow and a sword; I have no idea as to who it could be, remember they might not have been born yet," Evandar said. The looks of worry remained upon his and his mate's faces.

**The last rider had the same fair face and angled features as the other. He carried a long spear in his right hand and a white dagger at his belt. A helm of extraordinary craftsmanship, wrought with amber and gold, rested on his brow. Between the two rode a a raven - haired elven lady, who surveyed her surroundings with poise. Framed by long black locks, her deep eyes shone with a driving force. Her clothes were unadorned, yet her beauty b was undiminished. At her side was a sword, and on her back a long bow with a quiver. She carried in her lap a pouch that she frequently looked at, as if to reassure herself that it was still there. **

No recognition was present on the Elven Rulers faces, though lines of tension were; they were almost certain of the outcome of the Shade's mission. It was always a shock to lose elves to fighting and their race mourned them for years.

**One of the Elves spoke quietly, but the Shade couldn't hear what was said. The lady answered with obvious authority, and her guards switched places. The one wearing the helm took the lead, shifting his spear to a readier grip. They passed the Shade and the first few Urgals without suspicion. **

Shoulders relaxed slightly but not by much.

**The Shade was already savouring his victory when the wind changed direction and swept towards the elves, heavy with the Urgals' stench. The horses snorted with alarm and tossed their heads. The riders stiffened, eyes flashing from side to side, then wheeled their mounts around and galloped away.**

An audible sigh of relief went around the table but the worry still remained.

_Do not count your chicks before they have hatched, _ rumbled Glaedr, instilling fear in everyone present, save the dragons.

**The lady's horse surged forward, leaving her guards far behind. Forsaking their hiding, the Urgals stood and released a stream of black arrows. The Shade jumped, out from behind the tree, raised his right hand, and shouted, "Garjzla! "**

**A red bolt flashed from his palm toward the elven lady, illuminating the trees with a bloody light. It struck her steed, and the horse toppled, to the ground with a high - pitched squeal, plowing into the ground chest first. She kept off the animal with inhuman speed, landed lightly, then glanced back for her guards. The Urgals' deadly arrows quickly brought down the two elves. They fell from the noble horses, blood pooling in the dirt.**

A film of tears appeared in Islanzadi's eyes and her shoulders shook with angry sobs. Evandar swept her into his embrace, shielding her from the others inquiring eyes.

**As the Urgals rushed to the slain elves, the Shade screamed, "After her! She is the one I want!" The monsters grunted and rushed down the trail. A cry tore from the elf's lips as she saw her dead companions. She took a step toward them, then cursed her enemies and bounded into the forest.**

Islanzadi, still white as a sheet, gritted her teeth in anger and silently willed the elf on.

**While the Urgals crashed through the trees, the Shade climbed a piece of granite that jutted above them.**

"Smart, " commented Ormund, only to be greeted by a ferocious look from Islanzadi.

"There is an elf in danger and all you can think about is how best that fiend can catch her?"

Ormund held up his hands in surrender, "Just admiring intelligence in the field as a warrior."

"Well don't!"

**From his perch, he could see all of the surrounding forest. He raised a hand and uttered, "Boeth istalri! " and a quarter-mile section of the forest exploded in flames. Grimly he burned one section after another until there was a ring of fire, a half-league across, around the ambush site. **

_He plans to cut off all her escape options; capture is certain and possibly death,_ Umaroth rumbled solemnly.

**The flames looked like a molten crown resting on the forest. Satisfied, he watched the ring carefully, in case it should falter. The band of fire thickened, contracting the area the Urgals had to search. Suddenly, the Shade heard shouts and a coarse scream. Through the trees he saw three of his charges fall in a pile, mortally wounded. He caught a glimpse of the elf running from the remaining Urgals.**

An expression of fierce pride crossed Islanzadi's face as she listened to Vrael read.

**She fled toward the craggy piece of granite at a tremendous speed. The Shade examined the ground twenty feet below, then jumped and landed nimbly in front of her. She skidded around and sped back to the trail. Black Urgal blood dripped from her sword, staining the pouch in her hand. The horned monsters came out of the forest and hemmed her in, blocking the only escape routes. Her head whipped around as she tried to find a way out. **

"Please, please," Islanzadi murmured.

**Seeing none, she drew herself up with regal disdain. The Shade approached her with a raised hand, allowing himself to enjoy her helplessness.**

"Bastard! " Islanzadi snarled.

**"Get her."**

**As the Urgals surged forward, the elf pulled open the pouch, reached into it, and then let it drop to the ground. In her hands was a large sapphire stone that reflected the angry light of the fires.**

There was along quiet.

"An egg courier," Oromis said softly.

_That egg must have been stolen, as we have thus far worked out that the Shade has been ordered by a higher authority, most probably someone from this Empire, to retrieve the egg and he has been given a contingent of Urgals to aid him, _ Glaedr mused.

The dragons thoughts turned melancholic.

**She raised it over her head, lops forming frantic words. Desperate, the Shade barked, "Garjzla! "**

**A ball of red flame sprang from his hand and flew toward the elf, fast as an arrow. But he was too late.**

A grin appeared on Arva's face, "That's one gutsy elf you got there, Islanzadi."

The Queen nodded, eyes bright.

**A flash of emerald light briefly illuminated the forest, and the stone vanished. Then the red fire smote her and she collapsed. The Shade howled in rage and stalked forward, flinging his sword At a tree. It passed halfway through the trunk, where it stuck, quivering. He shot nine bolts of energy from his palm- which killed the Urgals instantly- then ripped his sword free and strode to the elf. **

"He's not going to kill her, is he?" Frida asked worriedly. No one answered.

**Prophecies of revenge, spoken in a wretched language only he knew, rolled from his tongue. He clenched his thin hands and glared at the sky. The cold stars stared back, unwinking, otherworldly watchers. Disgust curled his lip before he turned back to the unconscious elf. Her beauty, which would have entranced any mortal man, held jobs charm for him. He confirmed the stone was gone, then retrieved his horse from its hiding place among the trees.**

"Surprised it even wants to be near him," muttered Ormund.

**After tying the elf onto the saddle, he mounted the charger and made his way out of the woods. He quenched the fires in his path but left the rest to burn.**

"That's the end of the chapter, " Vrael said quietly, his face thoughtful.

"Who wants to read next?"

A brief silence followed until Islanzadi raised her head.

"I will."

She took the book from Vrael and turned the page.

**Chapter 2: Discovery...**

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><p><strong>There you are folks. Try and get another update before the end of the week.<strong>

**Dreamshadow102**


	3. Chapter 1: Discovery

**DISCLAIMER:- All text in bold apart from the AN belongs to Christopher Paolini.**

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><p><strong>Previously...<strong>

**_After tying the elf onto the saddle, he mounted the charger and made his way out of the woods. He quenched the fires in his path but left the rest burn._**

_"That's the end of the chapter," Vrael said quietly, his face thoughtful._

_"Who wants to read next?"_

_A brief silence followed until Islanzadi raised her head._

_"I will."_

_She took the book from Vrael and turned the page,_

**_Chapter 2: Discovery..._**

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><p><strong>Eragon knelt in a bed of trampled reed grass and scanned the tracks with practiced eye.<strong>

Islanzadi's slanted eyes drew together in a frown as she read.

**The prints told him that the deer had been in the meadow only a half-hour before.**

"At least he is not seemingly hopeless," Arva observed, his dragon humming in agreement. A few nods around the table were to be seen but the book had everyone held captive of silence.

**Soon they would bed down. His target, a small doe with a pronounced limp in her left forefoot, was still with the herd. He was amazed she had made it so far without with a wolf or a bear catching her.**

The elves who had previously had their brows furrowed in distaste, looked slightly mollified at the praise of the deer.

**The sky was clear and dark, and a slight breeze stirred the air. A silvery cloud drifted over the mountains that surrounded him, it's edges glowing with a ruddy light cast from the harvest moion cradled between two peaks.**

"Where even is he?" Ormund said bluntly, "The Beors, you think?"

His question was met with shrugs and looks of indecision.

**Streams flowed down the mountains from stolid glaciers and glistening sniwpaks. A brooding mist crept along the valley's floor, almost thick enough to obscure his feet. Eragon was fifteen, less than a year from manhood.**

A shocked silence followed the last sentence.

"He's...fifteen?" Islanzadi asked uncertainly, her eyes darting to Oromis', who still looked serene and perfectly calm.

"It would seem so, my dear," he agreed, closing his eyes," but take care judging people by their age."

Her eyes narrowed and she visibly bristled, "I was merely asking, Oromis!"

Evandar laid a hand on her arm, his deep eyes searching hers. She slowly relaxed and Glaedr blinked once,

_Even the youngest of us can become the greatest, _he said. Islanzadi remained silent before she picked up the book again.

**Dark eye-brows rested above his intense brown eyes. His clothes were worn from work. A hunting knife with a bone handle was sheathed at his belt, and a buckskin tube protected his yew bow from the mist.**

"Smart," Arva commented.

**He carried a wood-frame pack. The deer had led him deep into the Spine, a range of untamed mountains that extended up and down the land of Alagaesia.**

Ormund raised an eyebrow, "The Spine? He's got some guts." Vrael nodded in agreement.

**Strange tales and men often came from those mounatains, usually boding ill. Despite that, Eragon did not fear the Spine- he was the only the hunter near Carvahall who dared track game in its craggy recesses.**

"Carvahall, huh?" Arva snorted.

Islanzadi pursed her lips, "That means he'll be an ill-bred, rough-talking oaf." She sighed.

Oromis blinked, "Not necessarily, my dear."

**It was the third night of the hunt, and his food was half-gone. If he did noy fell the doe, he would be forced to return home empty-handed. His family needed the meat for the rapidly approaching winter and he could not afford to buy it in Carvahall. Eragon stood ith quiet assurance in the dusky moonlight, then strode into the forest toward a glen where he was sure the deer would rest. The trees blocked the sky from view and cast feathery shadows on the ground. He looked at the ground only occasionally; he knew the way. At the glen, he strung his bow with a sure touch, then drew three arrows and nocked one, holding the others in his left hand. The moonlight revealed twenty or so motionless lumps where the deer lay in the grass. The doe he wanted was at the edge of the herd, her left foreleg stretched out awkwardly.**

A look of pity crossed Oromis' face for a second before he rearranged it into an expression of veiled curiosity.

**Eragon slowly crept closer, keeping the bow ready. All his work of the past three dayshad led to this moment. He took a last steadying breath and...**

Everyone leaned forward in anticipation.

**-an explosion shattered the night. The herd bolted. Eragon lunged forward, racing through the grass as a fiery wind surged past his cheek.**

Frida nodded in approval, "He continues even when it is futile."

**He slid to a stop and loosed an arrow at the bounding doe. It missed by a finger's breadth and hissed into the darkness.**

"He has good aim," Rhunon rasped.

**He cursed and spun around, instinctively nocking another arrow. behind him where the deer had been, smouldered a large circle of grass and trees. Many of the pines stood bare of their needles. The grass outside the charring was flattened. A wisp of smoke curled in the air, carrying a burnt smell. In the centre of the blast radius lay a polished blue stone.**

_And there lies the hope of our race, _Valdr rumbled.

**Mist snaked across the scorched area and swirled insubstantial tendrils over the stone. Eragon watched for danger for several long minutes, but the only thing that moved was the mist. Cautiously he released the tension from his bow and moved forward. Moonlight cast him in a pale shadow as he stopped before the stone. He nudged it with an arrow, and jumped back.**

Islanzadi opened her mouth ready to pour a torrent of abuse on the character for treating the egg with such disrespect, but a warning glance from Oromis made her seethe in silence.

**Nothing happened, so he warily picked it up.**

Ormund and Arva shared a confused look, "Shouldn't it have hatched on contact?"

It was Umaroth who answered, _When we find our Rider we don't necessarily have to hatch on first contact. No, little ones, the hatchling is probably waiting for the opportune moment; that could be in a few minutes, a few hours or a few days. You cannot know._

They still had expressions of doubt in their faces but if they had any questions, they did not voice them.

**Nature had never polished a stone as smooth as this one. Its flawless surface was dark blue, except for thin veins of white that spiderwebbed across it. The stone was cool and frictionless under his fingers, like hardened silk.**

"An unusual comparison but fitting nonetheless," Oromis murmured, Glaedr humming in agreement.

**Oval and about a foot long, it weighed several pounds, though it felt lighter than it should have. Eragon found the stone both beautiful and frightening.**

_As it should be,_ Glaedr said smugly, earning a roll of the eyes from his Rider.

_**Where did it come from? Does it have a purpose?**_

Arva laughed, "You have no idea, child."

Valdr blinked, _You are talking to a...book._

Arva scowled but waved his dragon off.

**Then a more disturbing thought came to him: _Was it sent here by accident, or is it meant for me? _If he had learned anything from the old stories, it was to treat magic, and all those who used it, with great caution.**

"Quite right," Evandar said gravely.

_**But what should I do with the stone?**_

_What should he do indeed, _Umaroth mused.

**It would be tiresome to carry, and there was a chance it was dangerous. It might be better to leave it behind.**

"If he does!"Islanzadi threatened,"Foolish boy!"

Oromis sighed, "Exactly, he is but a boy."

She glared fiercly at him.

**A flicker of indecision ran through him, and he almost dropped it, but something stayed his hand. _At the very least it might pay for some food, _he decided with a shrug, tucking the stone into his pack.**

Even Oromis had the good grace to wince at the boy's words.

"The inconsiderate idiot!" Islanzadi spat,"An elf would never doubt a dragon egg's worth!"

"Precisely, my dear, he is no elf. He is a human boy, hungry and searching for any means possible to help his family, and with probably no knowledge that drgaons even exist let alone what a dragon egg look like," Oromis reasoned.

"He has a point," Vrael admitted reluctantly.

"NO EXCUSES!"

Arva snorted at the ferocious look on her face and even Evandar's lips twitched. He laid a calming hand on her arm but she shrugged him off angrily. Shaking his head, he took the book from her and resumed the reading,

**The glen was too exposed to make a safe camp, so he slipped back into the forest and spread his bedroll beneath the upturned the roots of a fallen tree. After a cold dinner of bread and cheese, he wrapped himself in blankets and fell asleep, pondering what had occured.**

"And that is the end of the chapter, my friends," Evandar concluded quietly. There was a moment of peace until Lakshmael stirred,

"And so our young hero emerges," she sighed deeply,"and I for one would hate to see him meet his end as a result of his lack of knowledge.

"I have every faith in the child," Oromis smiled. Glaedr nodded his massive head.

"Eragon indeed. Fate really does have a sense of humour," Vrael smirked.

"Who wishes to read the next chapter?"

"I will," Frida offered,"that is if no one objects." No was forthcoming, so she took the book from Evandar's proffered hand and settled deeper in her chair.

**Chapter 3: Palancar Valley...**

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><p><strong>AN: And there is chapter three. Sorry for the wait but right now I've been so busy and tired and I just haven't had the willpower to switch the computer on and write another chapter. The ideas went down the drain. Thanks for your continuing support and extra thanks to reviewers:<strong>

**Aunt Ginny Potter, Opped, DemonHunter of artemis, Guest, DarkGlacierPhoenix312, The Unknown GPX, starkiller99 and xXxGhostRiderxXx. Thanks so much guys, reviews really brighten my days. :-)**

**Dreamshadow102 :-)**


	4. Chapter 2: Palancar Valley

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own Eragon.**

**Chapter 3:PALANCAR VALLEY**

"A northern boy," Ormund commented.

"And that is supposed to mean what exactly?" Arva asked drily.

"Nought. It was but a passing thought."

Arva narrowed his eyes.

**The sun rose the next morning with a glorious conflagration of pink and yellow. The air was fresh, sweet, and very cold. Ice edged the streams, and small pools were completely frozen over.**

"It sounds beautiful," Lakshmael murmured wistfully, "in all my days I have never had the chance to look upon the valley of Palancar."

"That it is," Vrael said, "It has a certain rugged beauty about it, wouldn't you agree Oromis?"

"Yes, it does have a particular wild spirit."

** After a breakfast of porridge, Eragon returned to the glen and examined the charred area. The morning light revealed no new details, so he started for home.**

**The rough game trail was faintly worn and, in places, nonexistent. Because it had been forged by animals, it often backtracked and took long detours. Yet for all its flaws, it was still the fastest way out of the mountains.**

"There are few who would dare venture into the Spine," Arva said, "he is brave of heart that can be said at least."

**The Spine was one of the only places that King Galbatorix could not call his own. Stories were still told about how half his army disappeared after marching into its ancient forest. A cloud of misfortune and bad luck seemed to hang over it. Though the trees grew tall and the sky shone brightly, few people could stay in the Spine for long without suffering an accident. Eragon was one of those few—not through any particular gift, it seemed to him, but because of persistent vigilance and sharp reflexes. He had hiked in the mountains for years, yet he was still wary of them. Every time he thought they had surrendered their secrets, something happened to upset his understanding of them—like the stone's appearance.**

"Those ae the words of a wise mind," Frida nodded approvingly.

"Or an ignorant one," Islanzadi said.

**He kept up a brisk pace, and the leagues steadily disappeared. In late evening he arrived at the edge of a precipitous ravine. The Anora River rushed by far below, heading to Palancar Valley. Gorged with hundreds of tiny streams, the river was a brute force, battling against the rocks and boulders that barred its way. A low rumble filled the air.**

**He camped in a thicket near the ravine and watched the moonrise before going to bed.**

**It grew colder over the next day and a half. Eragon traveled quickly and saw little of the wary wildlife. A bit past noon, he heard the Igualda Falls blanketing everything with the dull sound of a thousand splashes. The trail led him onto a moist slate outcropping, which the river sped past, flinging itself into empty air and down mossy cliffs.**

**Before him lay Palancar Valley, exposed like an unrolled map. The base of the Igualda Falls, more than a half-mile below, was the northernmost point of the valley. A little ways from the falls was Carvahall, a cluster of brown buildings. White smoke rose from the chimneys, defiant of the wilderness around it. At this height, farms were small square patches no bigger than the end of his finger. The land around them was tan or sandy, where dead grass swayed in the wind. The Anora River wound from the falls toward Palancar's southern end, reflecting great strips of sunlight. Far in the distance it flowed past the village Therinsford and the lonely mountain Utgard. Beyond that, he knew only that it turned north and ran to the sea.**

"The lonely mountain?" Oromis pondered.

_I do not recall a 'Lonely Mountain' _Glaedr rumbled.

**After a pause, Eragon left the outcropping and started down the trail, grimacing at the descent. When he arrived at the bottom, soft dusk was creeping over everything, blurring colors and shapes into gray masses. Carvahall's lights shimmered nearby in the twilight; the houses cast long shadows. Aside from Therinsford, Carvahall was the only village in Palancar Valley. The settlement was secluded and surrounded by harsh, beautiful land. Few traveled here except merchants and trappers.**

"It really is rather isolated," Vrael frowned.

**The village was composed of stout log buildings with low roofs—some thatched, others shingled. Smoke billowed from the chimneys, giving the air a woody smell. The buildings had wide porches where people gathered to talk and conduct business. Occasionally a window brightened as a candle or lamp was lit. Eragon heard men talking loudly in the evening air while wives scurried to fetch their husbands, scolding them for being late.**

"How typically human," Islanzadi sighed.

"You must give him a chance, Islanzadi Drottningu," Vrael said patiently.

**Eragon wove his way between the houses to the butcher's shop, a broad, thick-beamed building. Overhead, the chimney belched black smoke.**

**He pushed the door open. The spacious room was warm and well lit by a fire snapping in a stone fireplace. A bare counter stretched across the far side of the room. The floor was strewn with loose straw. Everything was scrupulously clean, as if the owner spent his leisure time digging in obscure crannies for minuscule pieces of filth. Behind the counter stood the butcher Sloan. A small man, he wore a cotton shirt and a long, bloodstained smock. An impressive array of knives swung from his belt. He had a sallow, pockmarked face, and his black eyes were suspicious. He polished the counter with a ragged cloth.**

"Charming," the elven princess sniffed.

**Sloan's mouth twisted as Eragon entered. "Well, the mighty hunter joins the rest of us mortals. How many did you bag this time?"**

**"None," was Eragon's curt reply. He had never liked Sloan. The butcher always treated him with disdain, as if he were something unclean. A widower, Sloan seemed to care for only one person—his daughter, Katrina, on whom he doted.**

"He sounds delightful," Lakshmael muttered.

**"I'm amazed," said Sloan with affected astonishment. He turned his back on Eragon to scrape something off the wall. "And that's your reason for coming here?"**

**"Yes," admitted Eragon uncomfortably.**

**"If that's the case, let's see your money." Sloan tapped his fingers when Eragon shifted his feet and remained silent. "Come on—either you have it or you d****on't. Which is it?"**

**"I don't really have any money, but I do—"**

** "What, no money?" the butcher cut him off sharply. "And you expect to buy meat! Are the other merchants giving away their wares? Should I just hand you the goods without charge? Besides," he said abruptly, "it's late. Come back tomorrow with money. I'm closed for the day."**

"Rudeness is so unbecoming," Arva sighed.

**Eragon glared at him. "I can't wait until tomorrow, Sloan. It'll be worth your while, though; I found something to pay you with." He pulled out the stone with a flourish and set it gently on the scarred counter, where it gleamed with light from the dancing flames.**

"I find it quite hard to share your sentiments Oromis-finiarel when this boy is trying to barter the key to winning a war for food!" Islanzadi snapped.

**"Stole it is more likely," muttered Sloan, leaning forward with an interested expression.**

** Ignoring the comment, Eragon asked, "Will this be enough?"**

** Sloan picked up the stone and gauged its weight speculatively. He ran his hands over its smoothness and inspected the white veins. With a calculating look, he set it down. "It's pretty, but how much is it worth?"**

** "I don't know," admitted Eragon, "but no one would have gone to the trouble of shaping it unless it had some value."**

** "Obviously," said Sloan with exaggerated patience. "But how much value? Since you don't know, I suggest that you find a trader who does, or take my offer of three crowns."**

** "That's a miser's bargain! It must be worth at least ten times that," protested Eragon. Three crowns would not even buy enough meat to last a week.**

** Sloan shrugged. "If you don't like my offer, wait until the traders arrive. Either way, I'm tired of this conversation."**

** The traders were a nomadic group of merchants and entertainers who visited Carvahall every spring and winter. They bought whatever excess the villagers and local farmers had managed to grow or make, and sold what they needed to live through another year: seeds, animals, fabric, and supplies like salt and sugar.**

** But Eragon did not want to wait until they arrived; it could be a while, and his family needed the meat now. "Fine, I accept," he snapped.**

**"Good, I'll get you the meat. Not that it matters, but where did you find this?"**

**"Two nights ago in the Spine—"**

** "Get out!" demanded Sloan, pushing the stone away. He stomped furiously to the end of the counter and started scrubbing old bloodstains off a knife.**

**"Why?" asked Eragon. He drew the stone closer, as if to protect it from Sloan's wrath.**

"Perhaps he subconsciously understands what he really holds in his hands," Vrael said.

** "I won't deal with anything you bring back from those damned mountains! Take your sorcerer's stone elsewhere." Sloan's hand suddenly slipped and he cut a finger on the knife, but he seemed not to notice. He continued to scrub, staining the blade with fresh blood.**

**"You refuse to sell to me!"**

** "Yes! Unless you pay with coins," Sloan growled, and hefted the knife, sidling away. "Go, before I make you!"**

** The door behind them slammed open. Eragon whirled around, ready for more trouble. In stomped Horst, a hulking man. Sloan's daughter, Katrina—a tall girl of sixteen—trailed behind him with a determined expression. Eragon was surprised to see her; she usually absented herself from any arguments involving her father. Sloan glanced at them warily, then started to accuse Eragon. "He won't—"**

** "Quiet," announced Horst in a rumbling voice, cracking his knuckles at the same time. He was Carvahall's smith, as his thick neck and scarred leather apron attested. His powerful arms were bare to the elbow; a great expanse of hairy muscular chest was visible through the top of his shirt. A black beard, carelessly trimmed, roiled and knotted like his jaw muscles. "Sloan, what have you done now?"**

"Seems as though this Sloan is not a popular character," Evandar murmured.

** "Nothing." He gave Eragon a murderous gaze, then spat, "This . . .boy came in here and started badgering me. I asked him to leave, but he won't budge. I even threatened him and he still ignored me!" Sloan seemed to shrink as he looked at Horst.**

"He is but a coward at heart," Ormund said scornfully.

**"Is this true?" demanded the smith.**

**"No!" replied Eragon. "I offered this stone as payment for some meat, and he accepted it. When I told him that I'd found it in the Spine, he refused to even touch it. What difference does it make where it came from?"**

** Horst looked at the stone curiously, then returned his attention to the butcher. "Why won't you trade with him, Sloan? I've no love for the Spine myself, but if it's a question of the stone's worth, I'll back it with my own money."**

** The question hung in the air for a moment. Then Sloan licked his lips and said, "This is my own store. I can do whatever I want."**

** Katrina stepped out from behind Horst and tossed back her auburn hair like a spray of molten copper. "Father, Eragon is willing to pay. Give him the meat, and then we can have supper."**

"A human woman with a backbone?" Arva said,"what a pleasant surprise."

**Sloan's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Go back to the house; this is none of your business. . . . I said go !" Katrina's face hardened, then she marched out of the room with a stiff back.**

** Eragon watched with disapproval but dared not interfere. Horst tugged at his beard before saying reproachfully, "Fine, you can deal with me. What were you going to get, Eragon?" His voice reverberated through the room.**

**"As much as I could."**

** Horst pulled out a purse and counted out a pile of coins. "Give me your best roasts and steaks. Make sure that it's enough to fill Eragon's pack." The butcher hesitated, his gaze darting between Horst and Eragon. "Not selling to me would be a very bad idea," stated Horst. **

"I'm sure it would," Ormund laughed.

**Glowering venomously, Sloan slipped into the back room. A frenzy of chopping, wrapping, and low cursing reached them. After several uncomfortable minutes, he returned with an armful of wrapped meat. His face was expressionless as he accepted Horst's money, then proceeded to clean his knife, pretending that they were not there.**

"What an unpleasant soul," Lakshmael said, her brow furrowed. Her dragon rumbled in agreement.

** Horst scooped up the meat and walked outside. Eragon hurried behind him, carrying his pack and the stone. The crisp night air rolled over their faces, refreshing after the stuffy shop.**

** "Thank you, Horst. Uncle Garrow will be pleased."**

"Uncle? Perhaps an orphan," Oromis said.

"That makes the situation even worse," Islanzadi sighed.

** Horst laughed quietly. "Don't thank me. I've wanted to do that for a long time. Sloan's a vicious troublemaker; it does him good to be humbled. Katrina heard what was happening and ran to fetch me. Good thing I came—the two of you were almost at blows. Unfortunately, I doubt he'll serve you or any of your family the next time you go in there, even if you do have coins."**

"No, I would think not," Frida said.

** "Why did he explode like that? We've never been friendly, but he's always taken our money. And I've never seen him treat Katrina that way," said Eragon, opening the top of the pack.**

** Horst shrugged. "Ask your uncle. He knows more about it than I do."**

**Eragon stuffed the meat into his pack. "Well, now I have one more reason to hurry home . . . to solve this mystery. Here, this is rightfully yours." He proffered the stone.**

** Horst chuckled. "No, you keep your strange rock. As for payment, Albriech plans to leave for Feinster next spring. He wants to become a master smith, and I'm going to need an assistant. You can come and work off the debt on your spare days."**

** Eragon bowed slightly, delighted. Horst had two sons, Albriech and Baldor, both of whom worked in his forge. Taking one's place was a generous offer. "Again, thank you! I look forward to working with you." He was glad that there was a way for him to pay Horst. His uncle would never accept charity. Then Eragon remembered what his cousin had told him before he had left on the hunt. "Roran wanted me to give Katrina a message, but since I can't, can you get it to her?"**

_A brother? _Umaroth questioned.

**"Of course."**

** "He wants her to know that he'll come into town as soon as the merchants arrive and that he will see her then."**

** "That all?"**

**Eragon was slightly embarrassed. "No, he also wants her to know that she is the most beautiful girl he has ever seen and that he thinks of nothing else."**

**Horst's face broke into a broad grin, and he winked at Eragon. "Getting serious, isn't he?"**

** "Yes, sir," Eragon answered with a quick smile. "Could you also give her my thanks? It was nice of her to stand up to her father for me. I hope that she isn't punished because of it. Roran would be furious if I got her into trouble."**

** "I wouldn't worry about it. Sloan doesn't know that she called me, so I doubt he'll be too hard on her. Before you go, will you sup with us?"**

** "I'm sorry, but I can't. Garrow is expecting me," said Eragon, tying off the top of the pack. He hoisted it onto his back and started down the road, raising his hand in farewell.**

** The meat slowed him down, but he was eager to be home, and renewed vigor filled his steps. The village ended abruptly, and he left its warm lights behind. The pearlescent moon peeked over the mountains, bathing the land in a ghostly reflection of daylight. Everything looked bleached and flat.**

** Near the end of his journey, he turned off the road, which continued south. A simple path led straight through waist-high grass and up a knoll, almost hidden by the shadows of protective elm trees. He crested the hill and saw a gentle light shining from his home.**

"He lives a way out," Arva commented.

** The house had a shingled roof and a brick chimney. Eaves hung over the whitewashed walls, shadowing the ground below. One side of the enclosed porch was filled with split wood, ready for the fire. A jumble of farm tools cluttered the other side.**

"Farmers?" Islanzadi said, an underlying note of disdain in her voice.

Evandar looked at her.

** The house had been abandoned for half a century when they moved in after Garrow's wife, Marian, died. It was ten miles from Carvahall, farther than anyone else's. People considered the distance dangerous because the family could not rely on help from the village in times of trouble, but Eragon's uncle would not listen.**

** A hundred feet from the house, in a dull-colored barn, lived two horses—Birka and Brugh—with chickens and a cow. Sometimes there was also a pig, but they had been unable to afford one this year. A wagon sat wedged between the stalls. On the edge of their fields, a thick line of trees traced along the Anora River.**

** He saw a light move behind a window as he wearily reached the porch. "Uncle, it's Eragon. Let me in." A small shutter slid back for a second, then the door swung inward.**

** Garrow stood with his hand on the door. His worn clothes hung on him like rags on a stick frame. A lean, hungry face with intense eyes gazed out from under graying hair. He looked like a man who had been partly mummified before it was discovered that he was still alive. "Roran's sleeping," was his answer to Eragon's inquiring glance.**

"He sounds an overly suspicious character for saying he is but a mere farmer," Ormund observed.

** A lantern flickered on a wood table so old that the grain stood up in tiny ridges like a giant fingerprint. Near a woodstove were rows of cooking utensils tacked onto the wall with homemade nails. A second door opened to the rest of the house. The floor was made of boards polished smooth by years of tramping feet.**

** Eragon pulled off his pack and took out the meat. "What's this? Did you buy meat? Where did you get the money?" asked his uncle harshly as he saw the wrapped packages.**

_He sounds like a half-starved wolf _Glaedr commented.

**Eragon took a breath before answering. "No, Horst bought it for us."**

** "You let him pay for it? I told you before, I won't beg for our food. If we can't feed ourselves, we might as well move into town. Before you can turn around twice, they'll be sending us used clothes and asking if we'll be able to get through the winter." Garrow's face paled with anger.**

_And proud as a dragon _Umaroth added.

** "I didn't accept charity," snapped Eragon. "Horst agreed to let me work off the debt this spring. He needs someone to help him because Albriech is going away."**

** "And where will you get the time to work for him? Are you going to ignore all the things that need to be done here?" asked Garrow, forcing his voice down.**

** Eragon hung his bow and quiver on hooks beside the front door. "I don't know how I'll do it," he said irritably. "Besides, I found something that could be worth some money." He set the stone on the table.**

** Garrow bowed over it: the hungry look on his face became ravenous, and his fingers moved with a strange twitch. "You found this in the Spine?"**

_Exactly like a half-starved wolf_ Glaedr rumbled.

** "Yes," said Eragon. He explained what had happened. "And to make matters worse, I lost my best arrow. I'll have to make more before long." They stared at the stone in the near darkness.**

**"How was the weather?" asked his uncle, lifting the stone. His hands tightened around it like he was afraid it would suddenly disappear.**

"He is rather edgy," Lakshmael said.

**"Cold," was Eragon's reply. "It didn't snow, but it froze each night."**

** Garrow looked worried by the news. "Tomorrow you'll have to help Roran finish harvesting the barley. If we can get the squash picked, too, the frost won't bother us." He passed the stone to Eragon. "Here, keep it. When the traders come, we'll find out what it's worth. Selling it is probably the best thing to do. The less we're involved with magic, the better. . . . Why did Horst pay for the meat?"**

"When the hatchling comes forth, it should make for an interesting argument," Islanzadi frowned.

** It took only a moment for Eragon to explain his argument with Sloan. "I just don't understand what angered him so."**

**Garrow shrugged. "Sloan's wife, Ismira, went over the Igualda Falls a year before you were brought here. He hasn't been near the Spine since, nor had anything to do with it. But that's no reason to refuse payment. I think he wanted to give you trouble."**

"Went over?" Lakshmael echoed.

**Eragon swayed blearily and said, "It's good to be back." Garrow's eyes softened, and he nodded. Eragon stumbled to his room, pushed the stone under his bed, then fell onto the . For the first time since before the hunt, he relaxed completely as sleep overtook him.**

"He will not be relaxing for long I fear," Vrael murmured.

"That is the end of the chapter," Frida said.

"I will read the next chapter," Oromis said.

**Chapter 4: Dragontales...**

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><p><strong>I am so sorry about the huge time gap between this chapter and the previous one, please forgive me. and please please drop a review, they mean a lot.<strong>

**Dreamshadow102 xx**


	5. Chapter 3: Dragontales

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own Eragon.**

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**goto48, Alexia cooper, Albertjester, SiriuslyR.A.B, Inheritance1990, TheSealer, xXxGhostRiderxXx, Lord Halcyon, Windstotm124, AmberJKey and Nix-LokiFan. Go and check out their accounts and if they have stories have a read.**

**Someone brought up that I wasn't being too clear as to which parts were Paolini's text, and which parts were mine, and I totally agree, sorry for not mentioning it.**

**All text in BOLD is from Eragon.**

**All OTHER TEXT is what I have added in.**

**Hope you enjoy the chapter.**

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><p><strong>Chapter 4: Dragontales<strong>

_Perhaps the hatchling might make an appearance _Umaroth said, a flicker in his glaring yellow eyes.

"We hope," Frida said worriedly.

** At dawn the sun's rays streamed through the window, warming Eragon's face. Rubbing his eyes, he sat up on the edge of the bed. The pine floor was cold under his feet. He stretched his sore legs and rubbed his back, yawning.**

** Beside the bed was a row of shelves covered with objects he had collected. There were twisted pieces of wood, odd bits of shells, rocks that had broken to reveal shiny interiors, and strips of dry grass tied into knots. His favorite item was a root so convoluted he never tired of looking at it. The rest of the room was bare, except for a small dresser and nightstand.**

"Interesting," Oromis paused.

Islanzadi looked at him pointedly.

"Just an observation," he said mildly.

** He pulled on his boots and stared at the floor, thinking. This was a special day. It was near this very hour, sixteen years ago, that his mother, Selena, had come home to Carvahall alone and pregnant. **

"A travelling woman?" Evandar asked.

"Perhaps," Vrael answered ",though for a farming family, isolated deep within the Spine, it is unusual to find anyone, let alone a woman, who would dare, or who could afford to, venture into the Empire."

"What else would a farmer's sister want in the Empire," Ormund asked bluntly.

"That remains to be seen," Vrael replied, his eyes deep in thought.

**She had been gone for six years, living in the cities. When she returned, she wore expensive clothes, and her hair was bound by a net of pearls. **

"Much more than just a travelling woman, it would seem," Arva growled.

"So it would seem," Oromis murmured.

_I am intrigued _Glaedr said, his eyes gleaming in interest.

**She had sought out her brother, Garrow, and asked to stay with him until the baby arrived. Within five months her son was born. Everyone was shocked when Selena tearfully begged Garrow and Marian to raise him. **

"And so the mystery thickens," Ormund said, mystified.

**When they asked why, she only wept and said, "I must." Her pleas had grown increasingly desperate until they finally agreed. She named him Eragon, then departed early the next morning and never returned.**

There was a speculative silence.

"I am curious to know who this Selena is; it is not often that a mortal woman be so quick to give away their babe," Evandar said, his brow furrowed, making his eyes look even more shadowed than usual.

"Nay, she is an enigma," Ormund said.

** Eragon still remembered how he had felt when Marian told him the story before she died. The realization that Garrow and Marian were not his real parents had disturbed him greatly. **

"I'm not surprised," Frida murmured",poor child."

**Things that had been permanent and unquestionable were suddenly thrown into doubt. Eventually he had learned to live with it, but he always had a nagging suspicion that he had not been good enough for his mother. **

"As there is always the nagging doubt," Oromis said sadly.

**_I'm sure there was a good reason for what she did; I only wish I knew what it was._**

** One other thing bothered him: Who was his father?**

"The plot thickens," Lakshmael said, leaning forwards.

** Selena had told no one, and whoever it might be had never come looking for Eragon. He wished that he knew who it was, if only to have a name. It would be nice to know his heritage.**

"I bet it would," Arva muttered darkly. Ormund shot him a look.

** He sighed and went to the nightstand, where he splashed his face, shivering as the water ran down his neck. Refreshed, he retrieved the stone from under the bed and set it on a shelf. The morning light caressed it, throwing a warm shadow on the wall. He touched it one more time, then hurried to the kitchen, eager to see his family. **

_Already he senses the importance of the egg, even if he does not yet know why _Umaroth rumbled, sounding pleased.

**Garrow and Roran were already there, eating chicken. As Eragon greeted them, Roran stood with a grin.**

** Roran was two years older than Eragon, muscular, sturdy, and careful with his movements. They could not have been closer even if they had been real brothers.**

"He wouldn't have tried to sell the egg; why did it not appear to him instead?" Islanzadi sighed.

"You don't know that," Vrael said.

** Roran smiled. "I'm glad you're back. How was the trip?"**

** "Hard," replied Eragon. "Did Uncle tell you what happened?" He helped himself to a piece of chicken, which he devoured hungrily.**

**"No," said Roran, and the story was quickly told. At Roran's insistence, Eragon left his food to show him the stone. This elicited a satisfactory amount of awe, but Roran soon asked nervously, "Were you able to talk with Katrina?" **

"Young love, how tender it is," Oromis smiled gently.

**"No, there wasn't an opportunity after the argument with Sloan. But she'll expect you when the traders come. I gave the message to Horst; he will get it to her."**

** "You told Horst?" said Roran incredulously. "That was private. If I wanted everyone to know about it, I could have built a bonfire and used smoke signals to communicate. If Sloan finds out, he won't let me see her again."**

"You see, this boy is a fool through and through," Islanzadi huffed.

** "Horst will be discreet," assured Eragon. "He won't let anyone fall prey to Sloan, least of all you." Roran seemed unconvinced, but argued no more. They returned to their meals in the taciturn presence of Garrow. When the last bites were finished, all three went to work in the fields.**

** The sun was cold and pale, providing little comfort. Under its watchful eye, the last of the barley was stored in the barn. Next, they gathered prickly vined squash, then the rutabagas, beets, peas, turnips, and beans, which they packed into the root cellar. After hours of labor, they stretched their cramped muscles, pleased that the harvest was finished.**

_He will be strong from farming the land at least _Umaroth pointed out.

** The following days were spent pickling, salting, shelling, and preparing the food for winter.**

"We take our positions for granted; we have never had to harvest the fruits of the land, or live with the hardship of hunger," Vrael said gravely.

Islanzadi shifted.

** Nine days after Eragon's return, a vicious blizzard blew out of the mountains and settled over the valley. The snow came down in great sheets, blanketing the countryside in white. They only dared leave the house for firewood and to feed the animals, for they feared getting lost in the howling wind and featureless landscape. They spent their time huddled over the stove as gusts rattled the heavy window shutters. Days later the storm finally passed, revealing an alien world of soft white drifts.**

"You see?" Vrael said, gazing at the elven princess.

"While he has not had to cope with the hardship of war," she snapped.

"Each are a struggle unto themselves," Oromis said wisely.

**"I'm afraid the traders may not come this year, with conditions this bad," said Garrow. "They're late as it is. We'll give them a chance and wait before going to Carvahall. But if they don't show soon, we'll have to buy any spare supplies from the townspeople." His countenance was resigned.**

"I'm surprised they venture into the remote regions at all," Arva frowned.

** They grew anxious as the days crept by without sign of the traders. Talk was sparse, and depression hung over the house.**

** On the eighth morning, Roran walked to the road and confirmed that the traders had not yet passed. The day was spent readying for the trip into Carvahall, scrounging with grim expressions for saleable items. That evening, out of desperation, Eragon checked the road again. He found deep ruts cut into the snow, with numerous hoofprints between them. Elated, he ran back to the house whooping, bringing new life to their preparations.**

_Such joy at such simple things _Umaroth said, _it is humbling is it not?_

** They packed their surplus produce into the wagon before sunrise. Garrow put the year's money in a leather pouch that he carefully fastened to his belt. Eragon set the wrapped stone between bags of grain so it would not roll when the wagon hit bumps.**

** After a hasty breakfast, they harnessed the horses and cleared a path to the road. The traders' wagons had already broken the drifts, which sped their progress. By noon they could see Carvahall.**

"They live further out than I first thought," Ormund said.

** In daylight, it was a small earthy village filled with shouts and laughter. The traders had made camp in an empty field on the outskirts of town. Groups of wagons, tents, and fires were randomly spread across it, spots of color against the snow. The troubadours' four tents were garishly decorated. A steady stream of people linked the camp to the village.**

"It sounds like a family event," Frida observed, a wistful expression on her face.

** Crowds churned around a line of bright tents and booths clogging the main street. Horses whinnied at the noise. The snow had been pounded flat, giving it a glassy surface; elsewhere, bonfires had melted it. Roasted hazelnuts added a rich aroma to the smells wafting around them.**

"It is rather endearing," Lakshmael admitted.

** Garrow parked the wagon and picketed the horses, then drew coins from his pouch. "Get yourselves some treats. Roran, do what you want, only be at Horst's in time for supper. Eragon, bring that stone and come with me." Eragon grinned at Roran and pocketed the money, already planning how to spend it.**

_I wonder how that is _Valdr wondered.

** Roran departed immediately with a determined expression on his face. Garrow led Eragon into the throng, shouldering his way through the bustle. Women were buying cloth, while nearby their husbands examined a new latch, hook, or tool. Children ran up and down the road, shrieking with excitement. Knives were displayed here, spices there, and pots were laid out in shiny rows next to leather harnesses.**

"It would not compare to the gatherings of our own," Islanzadi sniffed.

"Do not be so condescending," Evandar chided.

** Eragon stared at the traders curiously. They seemed less prosperous than last year. Their children had a frightened, wary look, and their clothes were patched. The gaunt men carried swords and daggers with a new familiarity, and even the women had poniards belted at their waists.**

"Hmmm," Arva scowled.

** What could have happened to make them like this? And why are they so late? wondered Eragon. He remembered the traders as being full of good cheer, but there was none of that now. **

"What happened indeed," said Ormund ominously.

**Garrow pushed down the street, searching for Merlock, a trader who specialized in odd trinkets and pieces of jewelry.**

** They found him behind a booth, displaying brooches to a group of women. As each new piece was revealed, exclamations of admiration followed. Eragon guessed that more than a few purses would soon be depleted. Merlock seemed to flourish and grow every time his wares were complimented. He wore a goatee, held himself with ease, and seemed to regard the rest of the world with slight contempt.**

"I cannot abide by arrogant humans," Frida sighed.

** The excited group prevented Garrow and Eragon from getting near the trader, so they settled on a step and waited. As soon as Merlock was unoccupied, they hurried over.**

** "And what might you sirs want to look at?" asked Merlock. "An amulet or trinket for a lady?" With a twirl he pulled out a delicately carved silver rose of excellent workmanship. The polished metal caught Eragon's attention, and he eyed it appreciatively. The trader continued, "Not even three crowns, though it has come all the way from the famed craftsmen of Belatona!"**

"Belatona," Arva sat back in his seat, a look of resolve on his face.

**Garrow spoke in a quiet voice. "We aren't looking to buy, but to sell." Merlock immediately covered the rose and looked at them with new interest.**

**"I see. Maybe, if this item is of any value, you would like to trade it for one or two of these exquisite pieces." He paused for a moment while Eragon and his uncle stood uncomfortably, then continued, "You did bring the object of consideration?"**

** "We have it, but we would rather show it to you elsewhere," said Garrow in a firm voice.**

"Clever of him," Ormund said.

** Merlock raised an eyebrow, but spoke smoothly. "In that case, let me invite you to my tent." He gathered up his wares and gently laid them in an iron-bound chest, which he locked. Then he ushered them up the street and into the temporary camp. They wound between the wagons to a tent removed from the rest of the traders'. It was crimson at the top and sable at the bottom, with thin triangles of colors stabbing into each other. Merlock untied the opening and swung the flap to one side.**

** Small trinkets and strange pieces of furniture, such as a round bed and three seats carved from tree stumps, filled the tent. A gnarled dagger with a ruby in the pommel rested on a white cushion.**

** Merlock closed the flap and turned to them. "Please, seat yourselves." When they had, he said, "Now show me why we are meeting in private." Eragon unwrapped the stone and set it between the two men. Merlock reached for it with a gleam in his eye, then stopped and asked, "May I?" When Garrow indicated his approval, Merlock picked it up.**

_He senses that it is no ordinary stone _Glaedr said.

** He put the stone in his lap and reached to one side for a thin box. Opened, it revealed a large set of copper scales, which he set on the ground. After weighing the stone, he scrutinized its surface under a jeweler's glass, tapped it gently with a wooden mallet, and drew the point of a tiny clear stone over it. He measured its length and diameter, then recorded the figures on a slate. He considered the results for a while. "Do you know what this is worth?"**

** "No," admitted Garrow. His cheek twitched, and he shifted uncomfortably on the seat.**

"He really is shifty," Ormund said.

** Merlock grimaced. "Unfortunately, neither do I. But I can tell you this much: the white veins are the same material as the blue that surrounds them, only a different color. What that material might be, though, I haven't a clue. It's harder than any rock I have seen, harder even than diamond. Whoever shaped it used tools I have never seen—or magic. Also, it's hollow."**

"Finally some person with an inkling of sense," Islanzadi said, her eyes hard.

** "What?" exclaimed Garrow.**

** An irritated edge crept into Merlock's voice. "Did you ever hear a rock sound like this?" He grabbed the dagger from the cushion and slapped the stone with the flat of the blade. A pure note filled the air, then faded away smoothly. Eragon was alarmed, afraid that the stone had been damaged. Merlock tilted the stone toward them. "You will find no scratches or blemishes where the dagger struck. I doubt I could do anything to harm this stone, even if I took a hammer to it."**

_He is wise _Umaroth nodded his huge head.

**Garrow crossed his arms with a reserved expression. A wall of silence surrounded him. Eragon was puzzled. _I knew that the stone appeared in the Spine through magic, but made by magic? What for and why?_ He blurted, "But what is it worth?"**

** "I can't tell you that," said Merlock in a pained voice. "I am sure there are people who would pay dearly to have it, but none of them are in Carvahall. You would have to go to the southern cities to find a buyer. This is a curiosity for most people—not an item to spend money on when practical things are needed."**

** Garrow stared at the tent ceiling like a gambler calculating the odds. "Will you buy it?"**

** The trader answered instantly, "It's not worth the risk. I might be able to find a wealthy buyer during my spring travels, but I can't be certain. Even if I did, you wouldn't be paid until I returned next year. No, you will have to find someone else to trade with. I am curious, however . . . Why did you insist on talking to me in private?"**

** Eragon put the stone away before answering. "Because," he glanced at the man, wondering if he would explode like Sloan, "I found this in the Spine, and folks around here don't like that."**

"I wonder why," Frida said shrewdly.

**Merlock gave him a startled look. "Do you know why my fellow merchants and I were late this year?"**

**Eragon shook his head.**

** "Our wanderings have been dogged with misfortune. Chaos seems to rule Alagaësia. We could not avoid illness, attacks, and the most cursed black luck. Because the Varden's attacks have increased, Galbatorix has forced cities to send more soldiers to the borders, men who are needed to combat the Urgals. **

"The Varden?" Vrael said.

"They sound like an enemy to the Empire," Frida said curiously.

"A rebel group maybe," Ormund pondered.

"This isn't so simple any more," said dangerously,"Galbatorix? There can be no other than the traitor himself!"

"And from the sounds of it, he sounds like a leading authority," Ormund sighed.

"This is worse than we first thought," Vrael said grimly.

**The brutes have been migrating southeast, toward the Hadarac Desert. No one knows why and it wouldn't concern us, except that they're passing through populated areas. They've been spotted on roads and near cities. Worst of all are reports of a Shade, though the stories are unconfirmed. Not many people survive such an encounter."**

"It must be the one mentioned earlier. The one who captured the elf," Ormund concluded.

"That seems the most likely explanation," Lakshmael said worriedly.

** "Why haven't we heard of this?" cried Eragon.**

**"Because," said Merlock grimly, "it only began a few months ago. Whole villages have been forced to move because Urgals destroyed their fields and starvation threatens."**

"Such sadness," Oromis murmured, his eyes grave.

** "Nonsense," growled Garrow. "We haven't seen any Urgals; the only one around here has his horns mounted in Morn's tavern."**

** Merlock arched an eyebrow. "Maybe so, but this is a small village hidden by mountains. It's not surprising that you've escaped notice. However, I wouldn't expect that to last. I only mentioned this because strange things are happening here as well if you found such a stone in the Spine." With that sobering statement, he bid them farewell with a bow and slight smile.**

**Garrow headed back to Carvahall with Eragon trailing behind. "What do you think?" asked Eragon.**

** "I'm going to get more information before I make up my mind. Take the stone back to the wagon, then do what you want. I'll meet you for dinner at Horst's."**

**Eragon dodged through the crowd and happily dashed back to the wagon. Trading would take his uncle hours, time that he planned to enjoy fully. He hid the stone under the bags, then set out into town with a cocky stride.**

** He walked from one booth to another, evaluating the goods with a buyer's eye, despite his meager supply of coins. When he talked with the merchants, they confirmed what Merlock had said about the instability in Alagaësia. Over and over the message was repeated: last year's security has deserted us; new dangers have appeared, and nothing is safe.**

"Turmoil is arife once again in Alagaesia," Arva growled.

** Later in the day he bought three sticks of malt candy and a small piping-hot cherry pie. The hot food felt good after hours of standing in the snow. He licked the sticky syrup from his fingers regretfully, wishing for more, then sat on the edge of a porch and nibbled a piece of candy. Two boys from Carvahall wrestled nearby, but he felt no inclination to join them.**

** As the day descended into late afternoon, the traders took their business into people's homes. Eragon was impatient for evening, when the troubadours would come out to tell stories and perform tricks. He loved hearing about magic, gods, and, if they were especially lucky, the Dragon Riders. **

The table lapsed into a tense silence.

"That is not good news, to hear that we have become nought but a fireside storytale," Ormund said bluntly, though his eyes were sad.

**Carvahall had its own storyteller, Brom—a friend of Eragon's—but his tales grew old over the years, whereas the troubadours always had new ones that he listened to eagerly.**

There was an even tenser silence.

"You do not think?" Islanzadi whispered, all traces of disdain gone from her voice.

"That this Brom, that he might be the same, as Brom the Rider?" Vrael said, his eyes shining.

"Yes, it is very possible, and for this boy's sake, I hope it is."

"The situation will be greatly bettered if that is the case," Oromis said gravely.

** Eragon had just broken off an icicle from the underside of the porch when he spotted Sloan nearby. The butcher had not seen him, so Eragon ducked his head and bolted around a corner toward Morn's tavern.**

** The inside was hot and filled with greasy smoke from sputtering tallow candles. The shiny-black Urgal horns, their twisted span as great as his outstretched arms, were mounted over the door. The bar was long and low, with a stack of staves on one end for customers to carve. Morn tended the bar, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. The bottom half of his face was short and mashed, as if he had rested his chin on a grinding wheel. People crowded solid oak tables and listened to two traders who had finished their business early and had come in for beer.**

** Morn looked up from a mug he was cleaning. "Eragon! Good to see you. Where's your uncle?"**

** "Buying," said Eragon with a shrug. "He's going to be a while."**

** "And Roran, is he here?" asked Morn as he swiped the cloth through another mug.**

**"Yes, no sick animals to keep him back this year."**

** "Good, good."**

**Eragon gestured at the two traders. "Who are they?"**

** "Grain buyers. They bought everyone's seed at ridiculously low prices, and now they're telling wild stories, expecting us to believe them."**

_No story is ever too wild _Glaedr said, his voice distant.

**Eragon understood why Morn was so need that money. We can't get by without it. "What kind of stories?"**

**Morn snorted. "They say the Varden have formed a pact with the Urgals and are massing an army to attack , it's only through the grace of our king that we've been protected for so long—as if Galbatorix would care if we burned to the ground. . . . Go listen to them. I have enough on my hands without explaining their lies."**

"So he is the king," Arva growled, his eyes dangerously dark.

"And never has a more undeserving and power-hungry man sat atop that throne," Islanzadi hissed.

** The first trader filled a chair with his enormous girth; his every movement caused it to protest loudly. There was no hint of hair on his face, his pudgy hands were baby smooth, and he had pouting lips that curled petulantly as he sipped from a flagon. The second man had a florid face. The skin around his jaw was dry and corpulent, filled with lumps of hard fat, like cold butter gone rancid. Contrasted with his neck and jowls, the rest of his body was unnaturally thin.**

** The first trader vainly tried to pull back his expanding borders to fit within the chair. He said, "No, no, you don't understand. It is only through the king's unceasing efforts on your behalf that you are able to argue with us in safety. If he, in all his wisdom, were to withdraw that support, woe unto you!"**

**Someone hollered, "Right, why don't you also tell us the Riders have returned and you've each killed a hundred elves. Do you think we're children to believe in your tales? We can take care of ourselves." The group chuckled.**

"They would do well not to joke about the fate of this Order," Arva said, his voice disapproving.

** The trader started to reply when his thin companion intervened with a wave of his hand. Gaudy jewels flashed on his fingers. "You misunderstand. We know the Empire cannot care for each of us personally, as you may want, but it can keep Urgals and other abominations from overrunning this," he searched vaguely for the right term, "place."**

** The trader continued, "You're angry with the Empire for treating people unfairly, a legitimate concern, but a government cannot please everyone. There will inevitably be arguments and conflicts. However, the majority of us have nothing to complain about. Every country has some small group of malcontents who aren't satisfied with the balance of power."**

** "Yeah," called a woman, "if you're willing to call the Varden small!"**

_Who is this Varden? _Valdr asked.

"That, we can only find out, I am afraid," Oromis said.

**The fat man sighed. "We already explained that the Varden have no interest in helping you. That's only a falsehood perpetuated by the traitors in an attempt to disrupt the Empire and convince us that the real threat is inside—not outside—our borders. All they want to do is overthrow the king and take possession of our land. They have spies everywhere as they prepare to invade. You never know who might be working for them."**

"And I can only hope they succeed," Islanzadi said angrily.

**Eragon did not agree, but the traders' words were smooth, and people were nodding. He stepped forward and said, "How do you know this? I can say that clouds are green, but that doesn't mean it's true. Prove you aren't lying." The two men glared at him while the villagers waited silently for the answer.**

"He is a brave child, whatever else you might say," Evandar said to his mate.

** The thin trader spoke first. He avoided Eragon's eyes. "Aren't your children taught respect? Or do you let boys challenge men whenever they want to?"**

"People only speak like that, when what they speak is lies," Ormund said," he should not feel threatened by a mere child."

**The listeners fidgeted and stared at Eragon. Then a man said, "Answer the question."**

** "It's only common sense," said the fat one, sweat beading on his upper lip. His reply riled the villagers, and the dispute resumed.**

Ormund blinked.

** Eragon returned to the bar with a sour taste in his mouth. He had never before met anyone who favored the Empire and tore down its enemies. There was a deep-seated hatred of the Empire in Carvahall, almost hereditary in nature. **

"Well I suppose, they are not quite so bad then," Islanzadi conceded.

Arva rolled his eyes.

**The Empire never helped them during harsh years when they nearly starved, and its tax collectors were heartless. He felt justified in disagreeing with the traders regarding the king's mercy, but he did speculate about the Varden.**

"Who _are_ the Varden?" Lakshmael wondered.

** The Varden were a rebel group that constantly raided and attacked the Empire.**

"So we know that they oppose Galbatorix's rule," Frida said.

"That's enough to gain my support," Arva growled.

** It was a mystery who their leader was or who had formed them in the years following Galbatorix's rise to power over a century ago.**

"A century?" Lakshmael echoed.

There were looks of worry painted on everyone's faces.

** The group had garnered much sympathy as they eluded Galbatorix's efforts to destroy them. Little was known about the Varden except that if you were a fugitive and had to hide, or if you hated the Empire, they would accept you.**

** The only problem was finding them.**

"As it should be," Islanzadi said.

** Morn leaned over the bar and said, "Incredible, isn't it? They're worse than vultures circling a dying animal. There's going to be trouble if they stay much longer."**

** "For us or for them?"**

** "Them," said Morn as angry voices filled the tavern. Eragon left when the argument threatened to become violent. The door thudded shut behind him, cutting off the voices. It was early evening, and the sun was sinking rapidly; the houses cast long shadows on the ground. As Eragon headed down the street, he noticed Roran and Katrina standing in an alley.**

** Roran said something Eragon could not hear. Katrina looked down at her hands and answered in an undertone, then leaned up on her tiptoes and kissed him before darting away. **

Islanzadi looked uncomfortable.

**Eragon trotted to Roran and teased, "Having a good time?" Roran grunted noncommittally as he paced away.**

**"Have you heard the traders' news?" asked Eragon, following. Most of the villagers were indoors, talking to traders or waiting until it was dark enough for the troubadours to perform.**

**"Yes." Roran seemed distracted. "What do you think of Sloan?"**

** "I thought it was obvious."**

** "There'll be blood between us when he finds out about Katrina and me," stated Roran. A snowflake landed on Eragon's nose, and he looked up. The sky had turned gray. He could think of nothing appropriate to say; Roran was right. He clasped his cousin on the shoulder as they continued down the byway.**

** Dinner at Horst's was hearty. The room was full of conversation and laughter. Sweet cordials and heavy ales were consumed in copious amounts, adding to the boisterous atmosphere. When the plates were empty, Horst's guests left the house and strolled to the field where the traders were camped. A ring of poles topped with candles had been stuck into the ground around a large clearing. Bonfires blazed in the background, painting the ground with dancing shadows. The villagers slowly gathered around the circle and waited expectantly in the cold.**

** The troubadours came tumbling out of their tents, dressed in tasseled clothing, followed by older and more stately minstrels. The minstrels provided music and narration as their younger counterparts acted out the stories. **

"What I would give for that sense of relaxation," Frida sighed.

**The first plays were pure entertainment: bawdy and full of jokes, pratfalls, and ridiculous characters. Later, however, when the candles sputtered in their sockets and everyone was drawn together into a tight circle, the old storyteller Brom stepped forward. A knotted white beard rippled over his chest, and a long black cape was wrapped around his bent shoulders, obscuring his body.**

Everybody leaned forwards as Oromis continued reading.

** He spread his arms with hands that reached out like talons and recited thus:**

**"The sands of time cannot be stopped. Years pass whether we will them or not . . . but we can remember. What has been lost may yet live on in memories. That which you will hear is imperfect and fragmented, yet treasure it, for without you it does not exist. I give you now a memory that has been forgotten, hidden in the dreamy haze that lies behind us."**

"It must be," Islanzadi said, her eyes fierce with joy," no human would speak in such riddles.

**His keen eyes inspected their interested faces. His gaze lingered on Eragon last of all.**

"Perhaps age has made Brom a wise soul," Oromis smiled.

"He always was reckless."

**"Before your grandfathers' fathers were born, and yea, even before their fathers, the Dragon Riders were formed. To protect and guard was their mission, and for thousands of years they succeeded. Their prowess in battle was unmatched, for each had the strength of ten men. They were immortal unless blade or poison took them. For good only were their powers used, and under their tutelage tall cities and towers were built out of the living stone. While they kept peace, the land flourished. It was a golden time. The elves were our allies, the dwarves our friends. Wealth flowed into our cities, and men prospered. **

"Yes, it is our friend," Evandar said, his eyes joyful," no normal man could describe our races so vividly."

**But weep . . . for it could not last."**

**Brom looked down silently. Infinite sadness resonated in his voice.**

"For how long has he had to suffer?" Oromis said sadly.

"He is a much stronger man than we; if it is indeed him, then he has survived without his dragon for nigh on a century."

There was a moment of respectful silence.

**"Though no enemy could destroy them, they could not guard against themselves. And it came to pass at the height of their power that a boy, Galbatorix by name, was born in the province of Inzilbêth, which is no more. At ten he was tested, as was the custom, and it was found that great power resided in him. The Riders accepted him as their own."**

"Alas, that was the folly of a thousand years," Vrael sighed.

**"Through their training he passed, exceeding all others in skill. Gifted with a sharp mind and strong body, he quickly took his place among the Riders' ranks. Some saw his abrupt rise as dangerous and warned the others, but the Riders had grown arrogant in their power and ignored caution. Alas, sorrow was conceived that day."**

"He always was a good student, exceptional even," Oromis said wistfully, ignoring the others' looks.

** "So it was that soon after his training was finished, Galbatorix took a reckless trip with two friends. Far north they flew, night and day, and passed into the Urgals' remaining territory, foolishly thinking their new powers would protect them. There on a thick sheet of ice, unmelted even in summer, they were ambushed in their sleep. Though his friends and their dragons were butchered and he suffered great wounds, Galbatorix slew his attackers. Tragically, during the fight a stray arrow pierced his dragon's heart. Without the arts to save her, she died in his arms. Then were the seeds of madness planted."**

"And so hatched the madness of the traitor," Evandar murmured.

**The storyteller clasped his hands and looked around slowly, shadows flickering across his worn face. The next words came like the mournful toll of a requiem.**

**"Alone, bereft of much of his strength and half mad with loss, Galbatorix wandered without hope in that desolate land, seeking death. It did not come to him, though he threw himself without fear against any living thing. Urgals and other monsters soon fled from his haunted form. During this time he came to realize that the Riders might grant him another dragon. Driven by this thought, he began the arduous journey, on foot, back through the Spine. Territory he had soared over effortlessly on a dragon's back now took him months to traverse. He could hunt with magic, but oftentimes he walked in places where animals did not travel. Thus when his feet finally left the mountains, he was close to death. A farmer found him collapsed in the mud and summoned the Riders.**

** "Unconscious, he was taken to their holdings, and his body healed. He slept for four days. Upon awakening he gave no sign of his fevered mind. When he was brought before a council convened to judge him, Galbatorix demanded another dragon. The desperation of the request revealed his dementia, and the council saw him for what he truly was. Denied his hope, Galbatorix, through the twisted mirror of his madness, came to believe it was the Riders' fault his dragon had died. Night after night he brooded on that and formulated a plan to exact revenge."**

"We are such fools," Lakshmael murmured.

** Brom's words dropped to a mesmerizing whisper.**

**"He found a sympathetic Rider, and there his insidious words took root. By persistent reasoning and the use of dark secrets learned from a Shade, he inflamed the Rider against their elders. Together they treacherously lured and killed an elder. When the foul deed was done, Galbatorix turned on his ally and slaughtered him without warning. The Riders found him, then, with blood dripping from his hands. A scream tore from his lips, and he fled into the night. As he was cunning in his madness, they could not find him."**

"He was too cunning, too clever," Vrael rubbed his forehead, his eyes weary.

** "For years he hid in wastelands like a hunted animal, always watching for pursuers. His atrocity was not forgotten, but over time searches ceased. Then through some ill fortune he met a young Rider, Morzan—strong of body, but weak of mind. Galbatorix convinced Morzan to leave a gate unbolted in the citadel Ilirea, which is now called Urû'baen. Through this gate Galbatorix entered and stole a dragon hatchling.**

"He is another, a traitor condemned to die a harsh death," Islanzadi said angrily.

** "He and his new disciple hid themselves in an evil place where the Riders dared not venture. There Morzan entered into a dark apprenticeship, learning secrets and forbidden magic that should never have been revealed. When his instruction was finished and Galbatorix's black dragon, Shruikan, was fully grown, Galbatorix revealed himself to the world, with Morzan at his side. Together they fought any Rider they met. With each kill their strength grew. Twelve of the Riders joined Galbatorix out of desire for power and revenge against perceived wrongs. Those twelve, with Morzan, became the Thirteen Forsworn. The Riders were unprepared and fell beneath the onslaught. The elves, too, fought bitterly against Galbatorix, but they were overthrown and forced to flee to their secret places, from whence they come no more."**

"We are written in fate to fall then," Vrael said into the silence, unshed tears in his eyes.

** "Only Vrael, leader of the Riders, could resist Galbatorix and the Forsworn."**

Everyone looked to wise leader, their hearts aflame with respect.

** Ancient and wise, he struggled to save what he could and keep the remaining dragons from falling to his enemies. In the last battle, before the gates of Dorú Areaba, Vrael defeated Galbatorix, but hesitated with the final blow.**

"See? If I had not hesitated," Vrael murmured.

Arva broke the silence.

"You forget that while we are reading these books, these events have not yet come to pass in this time."

Realisation dawned on the people sat around the table.

"You mean?"

"That these books were sent here so that we might right the wrongs and prevent these tragedies."

"Yes."

** Galbatorix seized the moment and smote him in the side. Grievously wounded, Vrael fled to Utgard Mountain, where he hoped to gather strength. But it was not to be, for Galbatorix found him. As they fought, Galbatorix kicked Vrael in the fork of his legs. With that underhanded blow, he gained dominance over Vrael and removed his head with a blazing sword.**

Vrael looked slightly stunned.

**"Then as power rushed through his veins, Galbatorix anointed himself king over all Alagaësia.**

**"And from that day, he has ruled us."**

"And since then, there has not been another day in which peace will have reigned the lands."

** With the completion of the story, Brom shuffled away with the troubadours. Eragon thought he saw a tear shining on his cheek.**

And all this time, Brom will have survived, burning with vengeance," Ormund said, unusually subdued.

** People murmured quietly to each other as they departed. Garrow said to Eragon and Roran, "Consider yourselves fortunate. I have heard this tale only twice in my life. If the Empire knew that Brom had recited it, he would not live to see a new month."**

"I am sure he would not," Oromis said quietly, snapping the book shut.

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><p><strong>Hope you all enjoyed that, I will try and update again next week.<strong>

**Dreamshadow102 xx**


	6. Chapter 4: Fate's Gift

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own Eragon.**

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><p>There was a subdued silence after Oromis closed the book. The story had taken a sudden left turn, and the prospect of defeating the King was sounding more and more difficult by the second. In order to gain a position in which he might openly oppose Galbatorix, the boy would have to take refuge with the Varden, a task which presently seemed impossible since no person knew of their whereabouts. The farm boy had no guide save for Brom, and as clever as he may be, without his dragon, and at the decline of his strength, he would not be as strong a man as he used to. All in all, it would take nothing short of a miracle for the boy and hatchling to reach this Varden alive.<p>

"I fail to see how a solution can present itself, when there is no solution," Ormund growled.

"Do not give up hop-" Oromis started.

"Do not blather on about hope Master Elf, the harsh reality of the world works not on hope but on strength, on power, on skill. Hope is nought but false confidence in a guise; this boy lacks the strength, power and skill to become a figure who might defeat the mad King, and no amount of hope will force the sword through the traitor's heart! Forgive my impudence, but the fact remains that without some mystery pawn coming into play, he will not be able to fulfil his duty!"

Oromis inclined his head,

"You forget though Ormund Svenson, that hope is also responsible for the courage that drives one man to die for another, that continues to fuel the spirit in a soul that it might not shatter and break. You can have all the strength and skill of a hundred dragons but if you lack the conviction, if you lack the belief in what you are fighting for, then you will be swept aside as easily as smoke in the wind by the will of others."

Ormund looked contrite, though anger still burned in his eyes, "I apologise Wise One, I did not think of it that way."

Oromis waved him away, "There is nought for you to apologise for Ormund. Unto each man is bestowed the gift of sight, and we all perceive that which lies around us differently. You have your views, and I have mine."

"Well since we have no solution, I propose that we continue reading," Vrael said, reaching once more for the book.

**Chapter 5: Fate's Gift**

**The evening after their return from Carvahall, Eragon decided to test the stone as Merlock had. Alone in his room, he set it on his bed and laid three tools next to it. He started with a wooden mallet and lightly tapped the stone. It produced a subtle ringing. Satisfied, he picked up the next tool, a heavy leather hammer. A mournful peal reverberated when it struck. Lastly, he pounded a small chisel against it. The metal did not chip or scratch the stone, but it produced the clearest sound yet.**

_The eggs of dragons have shells far stronger than any other kind, they will not yield to magic nor might _Umaroth said.

** As the final note died away, he thought he heard a faint squeak. **

Everybody's breath caught. Glaedr blinked a single golden eye.

**Merlock said the stone was hollow; there could be something of value inside. I don't know how to open it, though. There must have been a good reason for someone to shape it, but whoever sent the stone into the Spine hasn't taken the trouble to retrieve it or doesn't know where it is. But I don't believe that a magician with enough power to transport the stone wouldn't be able to find it again. So was I meant to have it? **

"It would seem so," Arva said, glancing at Valdr.

**He could not answer the question. Resigned to an unsolvable mystery, he picked up the tools and returned the stone to its shelf.**

**That night he was abruptly roused from sleep. He listened carefully. All was quiet. Uneasy, he slid his hand under the mattress and grasped his knife. **

"He sleeps with a knife huh?" Ormund said gruffly, though his eyes shone with grudging approval.

"A rather unnecessary precaution for a farm boy," Islanzadi said sharply.

**He waited a few minutes, then slowly sank back to sleep.**

**A squeak pierced the silence, tearing him back to wakefulness. **

_It is hatching _Glaedr said, unable to contain the excitement in his voice. Umaroth hummed, glancing fondly at his younger kin.

**He rolled out of bed and yanked the knife from its sheath. Fumbling with a tinderbox, he lit a candle. The door to his room was** **closed. Though the squeak was too loud for a mouse or rat, he still checked under the bed. Nothing. He sat on the edge of the mattress and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. Another squeak filled the air, and he started violently.**

"He really is skittish," Frida said, frowning.

**Where was the noise was coming from? Nothing could be in the floor or walls; they were solid wood. The same went for his bed, and he would have noticed if anything had crawled into his straw mattress during the night. His eyes settled on the stone. He took it off the shelf and absently cradled it as he studied the room. A squeak rang in his ears and reverberated through his fingers; it came from the stone.**

**The stone had given him nothing but frustration and anger, and now it would not even let him sleep! **

"Belive me lad, that's going to be the last of your problems," Ormund growled ominously.

"Don't be so oppressing," Lakshmael snapped, while turning back to Vrael.

Ormund glared at her.

**It ignored his furious glare and sat solidly, occasionally peeping. Then it gave one very loud squeak and fell silent. Eragon warily put it away and got back under the sheets. Whatever secret the stone held, it would have to wait until morning.**

"Surely it should have hatched," Evandar said uncertainly, glancing at Umaroth.

_It may take a while for the hatchling emerge from egg; it takes a geat deal of effort to break free, _Valdr rumbled.

**The moon was shining through his window when he woke again. The stone was rocking rapidly on the shelf, knocking against the wall. It was bathed in cool moonlight that bleached its surface. Eragon jumped out of bed, knife in hand. The motion stopped, but he remained tense. Then the stone started squeaking and rocking faster than ever.**

Valdr snorted in satisfaction, violet eyes gleaming.

**With an oath, he began dressing. He did not care how valuable the stone might be; he was going to take it far away and bury it. **

_It will hatch before he can but leave the nest _Umaroth growled, quelling Islanzadi's furious cry of outrage.

**The rocking stopped; the stone became quiet. It quivered, then rolled forward and dropped onto the floor with a loud thump. He inched toward the door in alarm as the stone wobbled toward him.**

"It is very strong," Evandar said thoughtfully.

_Than the toughest steel _Valdr said, a hint of pride in his voice.

**Suddenly a crack appeared on the stone. Then another and another. Transfixed, Eragon leaned forward, still holding the knife. At the top of the stone, where all the cracks met, a small piece wobbled, as if it were balanced on something, then rose and toppled to the floor. After another series of squeaks, a small dark head poked out of the hole, followed by a weirdly angled body. **

_It is strong; it needed no help hatching, _Umaroth said approvingly.

**Eragon gripped the knife tighter and held very still. Soon the creature was all the way out of the stone. It stayed in place for a moment, then skittered into the moonlight.**

**Eragon recoiled in shock. Standing in front of him, licking off the membrane that encased it, was a dragon.**

"And that is the end of the chapter," Vrael said, a fierce smile of joy on his face. All three dragons hummed in satisfaction.

_And there is your hope Ormund Svenson, _Valdr rumbled.

"I can but not help worry for the outcome of this bonding," Islanzadi murmured, though not as hostile as before.

"Strength comes in all types of forms, including the spark of fire that can be buried in the heart of man. We have yet to see, but \I have great hopes for this Eragon," Vrael said, "Great hopes indeed."

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><p><strong>Thank you for reading. Sorry for the late-ish update, I know I promised it Friday! Anyway please drop a review and tell me what you thought.<strong>

**Dreamsadow102 xx**


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